


Noxious Acid

by FieldDranzer



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Fingering, Armor, Draenei, Fisting, Futanari, Night Elf, Nudity, Original Character(s), Other, Partial Mind Control, Post-World of Warcraft: Legion, Public Nudity, Shameless, Slime, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieldDranzer/pseuds/FieldDranzer
Summary: The Dread Citadel, Naxxramas; a blight upon human history. After the imprisonment of Sargeras, the citadel has once more come to life, with reports flowing in from the residents of Dragonblight and Wyrmrest Temple alike. The parties have gathered, a quest has been issued, but when a party of five are faced with the dread of the Plague Quarter, which vile secrets will be uncovered?
Kudos: 3





	Noxious Acid

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: One of the few stories I wrote for World of Warcraft, and one of the stories I enjoyed the most to write. Following the concept of a looming threat, a group of adventurers come together to combat the threat within the fabled Dread Citadel... with some twists to make it a more pleasant read. By all means, enjoy the story~

Rising up into the stormy clouds of Dragonblight, the upper spire of the Dread Citadel, Naxxramas, overshadowed the farmlands below. Housed within the halls of Naxxramas, countless lives, Forsaken, Human and Scourge alike had been lost to the annals of time; yet their undying souls remained, sealed away in prisons of crystal and bone.

Long ago, years before the Legion’s return, during the era of the Lich King himself, the Dread Citadel had been a stain upon the record of humanity itself; a place of misconduct, experimentation and a collective of degenerate toxicity. Naxxramas had risen above the land as a citadel of poisonous creations and vile abominations, a place favored by the Archlich of the Undead Scourge, Kel’Thuzad.

Yet now, years after the fall of the Lich King, the Dread Citadel had awoken once more; screams of fright and pain echoing throughout the halls, a hollow laughter ringing out across the land, and uncanny lights of Necromantic magic alerting the residents of Wyrmrest Temple.

At the Kirin Tor’s urgent behest, four parties of five had been sent out to undertake the various wings within the Dread Citadel. Three others had already entered their respective wings, yet, lingering within the entryway of Naxxramas itself, a Lightforged Draenei’s gleaming golden eyes lit up; a mixture of disgust and ire spreading across her pale blue face. Her party still lacked their fifth and final member; a Druid flying across the sea from Kalimdor itself. Their party were tasked with the exploration, and potential decimation, of the Plague Quarter; the former home of the vile Plague that had claimed so many lives in the past.

Casting her gaze out across the entryway to Naxxramas, Kaaylana’s features were contorted into a sneer at the mere thought of the experiments that had taken place there once upon a time. In an attempt to quell her unease and disdain, the Draenei’s golden eyes instead fell upon the forms of her present allies; of three others that shared her dilemma.

Any normal party would be comprised of a Tank, a Healer and then three Damage dealers, though in this case, both a secondary Tank and Healer had been brought; mainly as a means to conquer any residual disease that may yet linger within the halls of the Dread Citadel. Standing with her back up against a wall was a strangely short High Elven woman with long fiery colored hair tied up into a braided ponytail. The woman had introduced herself as Anya Kal’aira; a Paladin serving under the Silver Covenant, despite her allegiance to the Sin’dorei.

Swiping her eyes down along the woman’s armored form, various streaks of black and blue made up a rather form fitting armor, without leaving a single trace of creamy pale skin on display, save for her exposed head and neck. A full plate set, from gloves to boots and everything between, hid away a slender, petite shape that would easily belong to the young heiress of a noble household, not quite a form befitting of a Paladin under the Silver Covenant.

Turning her head around to meet the cool, inquisitive gaze of her Draenei companion, Anya raised a trimmed crimson eyebrow, her own Fel singed eyes taking in the sight of Kaaylana’s more provocative armor. With a shrug of her shoulders, as well as a motion of strapping her great sword onto her back, the Lightforged allowed her gaze to wander; once more landing upon the form of a female.

Nethariel was, by the strictest definition, a Rogue by trade. The entirety of the woman’s body was covered by sleek, dark grey leather armor that clung to her body like a second hide. Hidden behind a cowl was a mask resembling that of a skull, with two eye slots filled by the most sinister red gleam the Draenei had ever seen; a magic trick of Enchantment that made the Night Elf’s naturally silver eyes appear red. However, even though her form was covered by darkened leather, her shape was, similarly to their official tank, slender and somewhat petite. Even for a Night Elf, Nethariel’s height was short, not quite reaching the six foot threshold that most females of the Kal’dorei sat at.

Blinking her eyes once without putting any thought behind her actions, the Rogue herself was gone when next the Draenei opened her eyes, a testimony to her detection skill, and the reason behind why she had been chosen for a mission of such risk. Glancing around cautiously, Kaaylana’s pale blue skin warmed up ever so slightly as the faintest heat slid past her exposed abdomen; undoubtedly Nethariel’s gloved fingers brushing past Kaaylana’s sides.

Finally, the Lightforged Draenei’s golden gaze fell upon the secondary cause of her unease. Seated fully upon the raised dais serving as a teleportation platform, a woman of Elven descent with dusky blue skin skimmed through the scroll pertaining their mission details.

Narrowing her eyes unconsciously, Kaaylana’s golden gaze lingered upon the Void Elf’s glowing moonlight white orbs, a testimony to the woman’s descent into the Void. Artemis Sharlayan was, by definition, untrustworthy and unruly. As a Paladin of the Light, a Priest of the Void would always radiate a deep, dark presence; so much so that Kaaylana’s fingers twitched and Holy energy emanated from the core of her very being.

Unlike their other two companions, Sharlayan’s attire would more easily pass as a harlot’s than a Priest’s. Long, sleek gloves ran up from the tips of her fingers to her elbows, their dark color being offset by the white thread at their ends. Similarly, her legs were clad in black, form fitting stockings that ran all the way up to her mid-thighs, before ending there with a similar white line. What captivated most men and women’s gazes however, were the black thong and extended corset that wrapped around the woman’s curvaceous frame, two straps of black linen reaching up to form the neck slot of a Black Mageweave chest piece.

From where she stood, Kaaylana could already feel the gloating eyes that tried to pierce into her mind, a deep sated shudder coursing down her spine as the Light upheld its divine protection. For better or for worse, the success of their mission all depended on how much this masochistic Priest could keep her desires at bay.

Briefly, Kaaylana’s mind echoed back to her previous encounter with the Void Elf before her, a sour expression crossing her features as she opened her eyes… only to stare down into the same moonlit eyes, the same knowing smile and the very same lips that had once commanded her will.

Among her peers, Kaaylana herself was as tall as any other Lightforged Draenei, at least amongst the females. With Azeroth’s measurements, she stood at seven feet flat in terms of height, though despite the apparent height difference between herself and the lesser races, the Draenei’s enthusiasm and honesty had brought her many joyous adventures... which might have brought with it a few too many lecherous investors.

Standing up straight with her head held high, Kaaylana’s long silver colored hair cascaded down her back, reaching all the way down to her mid-back, without leaving so much as a single strand of hair in front of her face. Deep, glowing golden eyes shone with the splendor of the Light, and be it through her deeds as a Paladin, or her eagerness to purge the vile Legion from this world, a gem of pure, crystallized Light had been embedded in her forehead. With it, a sigil of Light had appeared, allowing anyone that laid their eyes upon her forehead to see that she was a representative of the Army of the Light’s commanders.

However, in the eyes of the Void Elf Priest before her, Kaaylana’s appearance was anything but that of a great savior. Through some strange twist of fate, she had been paired up with a stoic, shameless Lightforged Draenei whose athletic, well built body was left almost completely exposed for any prying eyes. Toned arms and thick thighs were exposed, tight skin whose light blue color made her seem ethereal at times, as well as a body that most Elven whores would kill to own.

Stockings made up off of pure gold reached from the Draenei’s ankles up to the middle of her thick thighs, a pair of demonic hooves stomping down against the ground with every step she took. What could only be described as the most revealing golden thong, also forged to fit the user, was bloated and distended beyond its natural state; why, Sharlayan did not know. A fully exposed midriff, glowing tattoos of Light shining in time with the Draenei’s breathing, whilst a gold forged bra held a pair of massive, endlessly large breasts; the bra itself straining to contain the might of a Draenei’s empowered endowments. Without the customary shoulder pads of any Paladin, Kaaylana Val’ariamis’ attire was fulfilled by a pair of golden bands below her elbows.

Wearing the armor that she did, without a shred of shame, truly was noteworthy, in a sense.

From where she stood, Sharlayan’s moonlit eyes gazed up into an endless stretch of bared flesh, hidden muscles rippling in time with the Draenei’s desire to leave this abominable place. Before the Priest was granted a chance to comment on the state of dress by their secondary tank, the omnipotent flapping of powerful wings reached their ears, collectively turning the gazes of all members present to see a rather large golden feathered eagle swoop through the entryway to Naxxramas, shape shifting mid-flight.

Finally, after an extended wait and far too much contact with a woman so touched by the Void, their fifth and final member had arrived.

Rising up from the crouched form of a shape shift, a tall female Tauren straightened her back, taking the briefest moment to scout out their immediate surroundings. Pushing herself off of the wall she had so uncouthly leaned against, Kaaylana warily took in the beauty that was Soyala Autumnroar.

For a Tauren, her height was undoubtedly normal, but amongst a rather petite group of elves and an averagely sized Lightforged Draenei, the Druid towered over everyone else. Neatly groomed light brown fur coated the Tauren’s body, generous curves hidden away beneath a forest green robe, whilst a long mane of black hair hung loosely down Soyala’s back. Similarly to how she remembered, Kaaylana’s attentive eyes zeroed in on the staff strapped to Soyala’s back, and before long, the Draenei’s eyes fell down upon the Druid’s bosom.

Large, swollen globes jutted out from Soyala’s chest, easily larger than anything Kaaylana had laid eyes on, while still defying gravity in a manner most befitting of a youthful Druid. Wrinkling her nose, the Lightforged Draenei picked up the scent of lilacs and raspberries, along with something… muskier.

Before the Paladin was granted a chance to properly investigate the source of the scent, their main tank, Anya Kal’aira, stepped forth to the center of their small group; the presence of Nethariel appearing out of thin air as well.

“I’m glad you could make it on such short notice, Archdruid Autumnroar.” Anya began, bowing her head ever so slightly before steeling her eyes. “As you are aware, a Necromancer has taken refuge within the Dread Citadel, once more raising its threat level. Three other parties have assembled along with us, though they have already begun their search of the various wings.”

Glancing around to make sure there were no questions, the Silver Covenant member continued. “We have been tasked with clearing out the Plague Quarter, if there is anything to clear out. If lady luck were to guide our hand, then there would be no difficulties ahead. If any of you have anything left to do, any preparations or rituals that require your attention, then you are to do so now.”

A brief pause, a few exchanged glances amongst allies, and nary a word spoken.

Giving their party a few more minutes to speak, Anya Kal’aira turned on her heel, long crimson hair swaying along her back before the High Elf strode forth. “Our Siege of Naxxramas begins now. Be prepared to cleanse the plague itself if need be!”

The inner halls of Naxxramas’ Plague Quarter reeked of death and disease, a thousand lost souls lingering within the cracked floor and walls. For a Paladin chosen by the Light itself, the mere premonition of death was strong enough to make her quiver in place; a feat that had little to do with her enchanted armor.

Already, their party had made quite a lot of progress through the Plague Quarter, and so far, the opposition they had met was meager at best. Remnants from the original siege, shambling corpses that threatened to fall apart at a mere glance, and acidic slimes that dribbled along the walls to hide within the cracks there.

However, as Kaaylana made her way behind their tank, the bubbling noise of oozing acid was what had clung to her mind the longest. Beneath the cracked floor, sliding down the walls, and oozing down canals along the various catwalks; a vile, sickly green slime ran. For all intents and purposes, a mere touch of the slime was enough to contract the plague for all eternity. A glance down the canal it possessed was more than enough to cause Kaaylana’s Lightforged mind to tremble.

And even still, knowing full well what would happen if the plague was spread, the Draenei’s gaze lingered on the vile substance.

Despite their only resistance being ghouls and skeletons, add up enough of them and you had a threat, send forth an army of hungering ghouls and your party might die; reinforce said army with a greater threat thereafter?

Before she had the time to finish that thought, Kaaylana swiped up with her greatsword, staggering backward as the arm of an abomination came crashing down upon her hastily erected guard. Beneath the onslaught of an army of ghouls, skeletons and carrion beetles, the behemoth had stumbled forth, its many arms flailing about whilst meat hooks and cleavers clad in poison were aimed to maim the flesh of its foes.

Pushing her sword to the side in a crude parry, Kaaylana’s golden eyes flickered over to their Priest, the Void Elf she had so dismissively ignored, just in time for a golden glow to settle down around the Draenei’s body.

Power Word: Shield.

Returning her eyes to the gash across the abomination’s belly, Kaaylana allowed the Holy Light to overtake her, swiping out vertically with a Crusader Strike before following up with a second one, Behind the abomination’s back, faint flickers of steel flashed back and forth, the intricate dance of a Nethariel’s Shadow Dance sending her back and forth to expertly weave between the arms atop the abomination’s shoulders.

Somewhere behind her back, she could hear the faint muttering of a chant, quickly followed by a rain of stars falling down around the abomination’s body; Soyala Autumroar’s cast of Starfall had gone through without being interrupted.

Despite the disparity between their classes and combat styles, Anya Kal’aira had managed to hold the abomination’s attention, standing upon a Consecration whilst casting Judgment every so often. Even Sharlayan, the Void Elf Priest standing the furthest away, had managed to launch several Mind Blasts while moving her allies out of danger with a Leap of Faith. With a party fully consistent of healing and utility classes, none had suffered any lethal damage.

A loud, feminine cry of pain snapped Kaaylana’s attention back to reality, just in time for her golden eyes to widen when one of the abomination’s arms slammed into her unguarded stomach, knocking the air from her lungs while sending her flying off to the side; directly towards the river of vile green gunk that premated the entire Plague Quarter.

With a splash and a spray of green liquid, Kaaylana’s body dipped below the thick goop, her greatsword clattering to the ground where she had once stood.

Gritting her teeth where she stood, Anya barked out an order for both Soyala and Sharlayan to stand ready with cleansing and healing abilities while she herself threw out an Avenging Shield to knock the abomination back a few steps; once more reclaiming the aggro that had been lost from her slip-up.

Allowing her eyes to be filled with the essence of the Void, Sharlayan dipped deep into the Voidform, channeling a beam of Void Torrent to overwhelm the abomination; leaving her lingering insanity on hold as visions of death, betrayal and half-truths entered her mind.

In a flash, what could only be described as a lunar colored meteorite was flung down from a midnight colored rift in the sky, quickly followed by another, one much greater in size than the first, before a third and final lunar meteorite striking down, finishing Soyala’s cast of Full Moon. By that point in time, the abomination had all but crumbled, its arms limp by its sides whilst its distorted head heaved up and down.

With no better timing than that, Nethariel emerged from the Shadow Dance once more, jumping up into the air with her onyx daggers poised to strike. Launching what few lived to speak off, Nethariel all but cut through the abomination’s head and back with a powerful Death from Above, rendering the monstrosity useless as it crumbled to the ground; a heavy thud resonating through the immediate area.

Taking but a moment to catch her breath, Anya allowed her sword and shield to drop onto the ground, whipping her head around to stare off into the bubbling pool of acid that made up the dropzone for their second Paladin. In the midst of the vile green slime, a few bubbles surfaced, yet no trace was seen of the Draenei’s head.

Cautiously picking up her weaponry once more, Anya Kal’aira, with the rest of their party following after, stepped towards the vile green goop that freely ran through all of Naxxramas, eyes wide as nothing at all resurfaced.

That was, until, with a faint glow of pure Light, the vile liquid burst aside, revealing the silvery hair of Kaaylana as the Lightforged Draenei slowly pushed herself up onto her feet, standing with her waist hidden beneath the surging slime.

Forcing her feet to wade through the thick slime she had been flung inside of, Kaaylana’s cheeks grew warmer and warmer the further she moved away, a faint prickling spreading across the whole of her body; even the parts hidden beneath her enchanted plate tingled.

It wasn’t until her hooved feet rose from the surface of the green slime that Kaaylana’s body was enveloped by a soothing sense of serenity, both a Mass Dispel and a Regrowth being applied to her simultaneously. However, as the Lightforged Draenei fully stepped out of the slime, and the Dispel was aimed at removing any disease that may have lingered, Kaaylana herself felt no difference. Only a strange warmth that seemingly enveloped her armored body.

The low clicking of hooved feet against the rocks of Naxxramas resounded through the room, leaving a sickly bubbling noise in the background, before the Lightforged Draenei fully stepped out of the noxious liquid she had been flung into. Letting out a weary sigh as her hair clung to the back of her neck, Kaaylana brought her hands up to comb through the sticky silver strands of her Lightforged hair, grimacing at the mere thought of washing out the gunk from her hair.

As her hands squeezed themselves around her long, pristine hair, the lingering warmth that had all but enveloped her body persisted, even as her healers cleansed the filth of the Plague from her system. Allowing her eyes to close themselves, Kaaylana’s mind wandered, a faint prickling resembling goosebumps spreading across the entirety of her body. Absentmindedly turning her head to glare down at the vile pool behind her back, Kaaylana’s horn-like ears perked up at a faint, sizzling sound.

Dropping her hands from their task of wringing the ooze out of her hair, the Draenei’s glowing golden eyes stared around, focusing most of her senses to detect the source of the sound.

“Anya, we may yet come under attack by another behemoth…” trailing off, Kaaylana’s stoic voice was more than enough to put their tank on guard, forcing the crimson haired High Elf to turn her back towards the potentially Plagued Draenei whilst raising her shield and sword.

“If another abomination lumbers in, I’ll take it in the back while you find your weapon.” Raising her voice with a stern expression on her face, Anya Kal’aira’s demeanor all but crumbled as a feminine, maniacal giggle broke through the plump, purple lips of Sharlayan.

Before Anya had a chance to retort, the sizzling sound from before returned, though this time, it brought with it something quite unexpected. Without granting her a chance to react, the golden bra serving as Kaaylana’s breastplate creaked, the material of its cups concaving, before a metallic snap resounded through the vast room. Letting out an unladylike yelp, Kaaylana all but jumped as the harness of her bra snapped, causing her breastplate to shoot forward at an incredible pace; resembling a Holy Shock rather than a piece of plate armor.

The moment the sound of plate snapping resounded through the air, Kaaylana’s eyes grew wide, a fretful look adorning her features as the missile that once was her bra shot out across the room. Even before her hands could react, her large, swollen light blue breasts spilled forth, a pair of dark blue nipples standing proud as her assets were revealed.

From her place beside her Lightforged counterpart, Sharlayan’s moonlit eyes near instantly zeroed in on the vast expanse of tit flesh that had previously been hidden away beneath a glorified bra. Two large, incredibly soft breasts that jiggled even after their release. Unconsciously, the Void Elf took a step back, closing her legs tightly together whilst a scowl adorned her otherworldly features.

Perhaps, for the first time since they had met, Kaaylana’s angular features revealed the faintest bit of shame, or perhaps embarrassment, or something else entirely. Yet, the big breasted Draenei in question made no move to cover up; on the contrary, with the release of her breasts, the Lightforged tattoos adoring her stomach glowed brighter.

The sound of a metal piece falling into the vile green liquid on the other side of the room was what truly broke the five out of their trance.

However, as Soyala, Anya, Sharlayan and Nethariel turned their heads towards the source of the plate missile, three sets of eyes zeroed in on the only place that had yet to melt, a fourth set of eyes hungrily taking in the swollen globes of a Paladin.

“What was-” Nethariel’s muffled, subdued voice arose, only to quiet down once more as another sound dominated their space.

Shuddering where she stood, with her mouth falling agape, tongue lolling out obscenely, Kaaylana’s golden eyes lit up in time with the briefest dusting of dark purple across her cheeks. The warmth had spread, her body tingled, and yet, despite all else, her breasts ached for her companion’s attention. Their eyes were nice, their expressions were perfect, and yet, the warmth grew hotter still.

Another snap, metal being torn apart at its rivets, along with the overbearing sound of something searing away. Almost as soon as its upper counterpart had begun, the glorified thong that hid away Kaaylana’s womanhood shone, a trail of orange searing its way up along the waistband as the golden piece melted away. Although, no matter how she herself desired it to be so, it was not the piece itself that gave out, but rather, the flesh it had been made to contain bulged out; wide hips and a fat, jiggling ass that simply could not be contained any longer.

When the searing orange color had spread across the waistband of her thong, Kaaylana Val’ariamis, a honored member of the Lightforged, could only swallow the lump in her throat and hope that her arousal would not show.

A heavy thump, two pieces of golden metal falling to the ground, and a wet slap that would forever remain in her comrades’ minds.

Flopping free from its infernal prison was what most would mistake for a male Draenei’s tail; long, thick and undoubtedly bulbous. Yet, near its tip, the light blue color shifted, becoming a darker shade of purple, before the very head turned into a brighter pink.

From where they stood, the members of their party stared wide eyed at the sheer length of the cock that had flopped free from Kaaylana’s thong, reaching all the way down to her knees, even in its limp state.

Gulping where she stood, with her chest and groin fully exposed, with her hands hanging down along her sides, Kaaylana’s golden eyes were squeezed shut; ears twitching from time to time in expectation of her comrades reaction.

Yet, when no such audacious yell of surprise came, and as the minutes slowly trickled by, Kaaylana dared to sneak the slightest peek. The area around them was as quiet as ever, the vile corpse of an abomination was off to the side, rotting away while leaving a horrendous stench, and her companions were still there, backs rigid and eyes wide.

Feeling her lower lip wobble, Kaaylana turned her gaze to the other Paladin present, taking in the sight of Anya’s armored figure.

Whether it was the lingering heat of her slime bath, or the gentle breeze that blew past her exposed cock, Kaaylana’s eyes could hardly help themselves, near instantly zeroing in on the slender curves of Anya’s waist.

Anya herself however, could only stand still, eyes wide and brimming with wonder, jaw slack and mouth agape, whilst her eyes, her Fel green eyes stared at the sight before her, unblinkingly ogling the exposed anatomy of a Draenei. From the way it twitched and throbbed, to the faint scent of dominance, to the way the veins running up its shaft pulsated; the mere sight of her companion’s cock had robbed the High Elf of a means to speak.

Her sense as a Paladin spoke, nearly screamed at her to be revolted, to despise the fact that her legs trembled from the sight of such a… such a… ‘A what?’ her mind asked.

“Has it grown bigger since our last rendezvous, little Light?” The first to speak was, strangely, the very Void Elf that had both healed and caused her party harm throughout their little dungeon run. “Or is it merely a strange twist of fate?”

Stepping up beside the Lightforged Draenei, Artemis Sharlayan wore a smile so sadistic that even the ever quiet Nethariel visibly cringed. Trailing a hand down along Kaaylana’s slender waist and wide hips, Void singed fingers traced a small circle before delving deeper, sliding around to openly grope the Draenei’s salacious ass.

Gritting her teeth as the warmth around her body intensified, Kaaylana’s glowing golden eyes swiveled, her gaze undoubtedly landing upon Sharlayan’s flowing mane of multicolored hair. “Get your hand- ooh!” Trailing off into a low moan, the Draenei’s hips rhythmically bucked as her Void Elf counterpart’s fingers found their mark.

“Get my hand up? In? Whatever might you desire, Kayla?” Rolling her tongue, Sharlayan’s moonlit eyes fell upon the remaining members of their party, withdrawing her hand as her grin grew wide. “We’ve met before, back during our early days in Goldshi--”

“You Mind Fucked me!” Kaaylana bit out between whimpering mewls and heated heaves.

“Yes, yes, enough about that.” Casting a quick Silence upon the Draenei’s mind, Sharlayan watched as Kaaylana’s lips opened, yet no sounds came out.

Swiveling her eyes around to stare at the dumbfounded look that had fully encompassed Anya’s features, a wicked grin crossed her lips, before even that was hidden behind a veil of sincerity. “I believe the liquid running through Naxxramas is of a different breed than during the original siege. Based on our dear Kayla’s armor-” pointing a slender, manicured finger in the direction of the golden meteorite that had once been Kaaylana’s breastplate.

“Corrosive acid,” Soyala interrupted, her deep yet somehow serene voice booming over Sharlayan’s theoretical lecture. Casting her big black eyes upon Kaaylana’s exposed figure, the Druid slowly walked closer, one hand inching up to swipe a thick finger across the Draenei’s exposed, slimed belly. “With a hubris of warmth as well…”

Coughing lightly where she stood, Sharlayan slowly removed her hands from Kaaylana’s exposed posterior, crossing her arms above her firm bust while staring back and forth between the blatantly obvious Druid and the panting Draenei. “Well, yes, more or less…”

Before Anya was granted a chance to speak up, a faint rumbling reverberated through the floor, along with the sound of metal on metal as a gate behind their backs opened. Resounding through the labyrinth-like hallways of Naxxramas, the shrill echo of laughter rang, along with the faintest sounds of grunts and metal hitting metal.

All but flinching backward as her mind was snapped out of its daze, Anya cast one last, longing glance down across the exposed flesh of Kaaylana’s body, Fel green eyes lingering upon the sight of a throbbing, pulsating cock. “W-we should head off. Based on the original reports…” trailing off, Anya stared wide eyed as the limp member she had ogled twitched, a faint moan spilling forth from Kaaylana’s plump lips.

Walking up from where she stood, a sheathed dagger held in her hand, Nethariel slowly crouched down beside the exposed Draenei’s hips, pushing the flat of her sheathed blade against the underside of Kaaylana’s twitching cock, slowly pushing it out and up whilst more and more throbs reverberated through the exposed limb. “A neural toxin; heavy hitting poison that affects a target’s nerves. Curable, though not here.” Looking up into the golden eyes and deeply flushed face of her Lightforged companion, Nethariel’s hidden red eyes all but glared as her muffled voice rang out. “Dalaran.”

Between the grumbling Void Elf recasting a Silence spell on Kaaylana, Soyala stroking her thick Tauren fingers along Kaaylana’s toned stomach, and Nethariel slapping her sheathed dagger against Kaaylana’s twitching shaft, Anya could only shake her head. How she had ended up in a party with so many… unique individuals was beyond her. However…

“Is there a way to make her combat ready without returning to Dalaran?” Biting the inside of her cheek, Anya could only pray that her iris-less eyes did not deceive her. The sight of a throbbing cock held up by a dagger was more than she herself had seen in a long time.

The reply came quickly, though not in the form the High Elf had expected. Almost simultaneously, Nethariel, Sharlayan and Soyala turned their heads, staring intently upon the exposed anatomy before them. Yet, the one to speak was, sadly, Nethariel in her ever cryptic voice. “Release.”

With a shake of her head, Anya was all but ready to accept, though before her mouth could open, a hidden little voice in the back of her head spoke up. ‘Why do I have to help someone that got gunked? They said it themselves, it is curable, and we’ll go to Dalaran tomorrow…’

Furrowing her crimson eyebrows for the briefest moment, Anya Kal’aira made the call, conjuring forth every ounce of authority within her as a member of the Silver Covenant.

“We’ll press on until we’ve cleared the Plague Quarters. Kaaylana, use your Holy Light to spot heal; you can take that in the back. Soyala, switch gears into offense. Sharlayan, keep our new Healer company in the back whilst myself, Nethariel and Soyala focus on damage control.” Barking out the last of her orders, both Nethariel and Sharlayan gave an affirmative nod, with Soyala humming to herself.

Right as their party were about to resume their battle, Kaaylana’s golden eyes swiveled around, her angular jaw pointing in the direction of her new battle buddy; taking in the sight of a bulge straining against Sharlayan’s Black Mageweave thong and vest. However, the sight that had her both surprised and infuriated was the grin, a grin filled with nothing less than sadistic glee.

With Nethariel’s dagger gone, Kaaylana’s flaccid cock slapped down against her thighs, swaying back and forth a moment more as one dark, sinister thought protruded in the deepest recesses of her mind.

‘Mind Control.’

At the very heart of the Plague Quarter, housed within the sanctum that had once been inhabited by Loatheb, their party now stood, gazing around in search of something that might lead them closer to the truth behind the reports received by the Kirin Tor.

Stepping forth from the entryway, Anya Kal’aira’s Fel imbued gaze flickered around the room, hands clutching at the harnesses of her weapons, all the while forcing her gaze forward. After their little blunder in their battle against the abomination, ending with their second Paladin’s armor melting away whilst her body was overtaken by an unyielding fever, Soyala Autumnroar had been willing to give up her robes to cover up their Lightforged ally’s disruptive shame.

Now, said woman sauntered up beside Anya’s armored frame in her Cat form, the distinctive shape of a Tauren Druid appearing clearly. Behind her back however, Kaaylana was anything but decent.

Soyala was, by no means, as curvaceous or thick as one would expect from a female Tauren. Whilst undressing, Anya’s watchful eyes had been all but forced to take in the sight of her companion’s breasts, a pair of large, fur covered breasts that would easily be larger than their Lightforged Draenei’s bubbly butt. Comparing the globes to any melon of the world would grant them no justice. Briefly, as Anya’s gaze had once more fallen upon the form of Kaaylana’s drooping dick, her mind was filled with the very same voice that had prioritized progress over safety, urging her to watch.

Currently, as Kaaylana stepped up beside Anya on the frontlines, a magical imbued robe clinging to her body whilst leaving enough room for her breasts, the root of the High Elf’s worries revealed itself anew. Even with a busty Tauren’s robes, the thing between the Draenei’s legs poked out, hiking the drab brown robe up a few inches whilst forming the most obscene bulge imaginable. However, as her eyes scanned through their party, Anya briefly caught a glance of yet another bulge, expertly hidden through Sharlayan’s Shadow Form.

With a shake of her head, Anya returned her gaze to the center of the room, to a green dais with a small urn placed atop it. From the reports she had read during the original Siege of Naxxramas, as well as the second one, there had been no such item found during the raid of the Plague Quarter. If anything, it would only make sense for a phylactery to be hidden within Kel’Thuzad’s chambers, guarded by the Frost Wyrm Sapphiron.

A phylactery; the urn filled with a Lich’s soul, often considered the only true way to defeat the undead sorcerer.

Taking a step forward, either out of instinct or fright, Anya’s eyes grew wide as, before their very eyes, an ominous aura began to encompass the phylactery, a cold shiver running down her spine. Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, the High Elf turned her head around, crimson hair flailing about whilst her eyes grew wide. “Get back!”

However, it was already too late to respond. As the words left the High Elf’s plump lips, the cyan and white aura that had been cloaked around the phylactery burst forth, a raging frost nova erupting outward, passing by all five women before hitting the walls, an echoing crash of stone and ice resounding through the room.

All around them, the frozen blast had left a thin trail of rime small bumps and ridges of solid ice having formed, whilst the area hit the hardest, the entrance to the room itself, had been covered in a layer of permafrost. Their exit had been cut off, though they themselves were in no position to complain. The haunting chill of death had slammed into all women present, locking their feet in the ground, whilst hitting the cloth armored women with an unbearable chill.

Beside her, even Soyala had been frozen in place in her cat form, and to their far side, next to the phylactery, a solid block of ice had formed, within it, Nethariel was held captive, daggers raised and ready to destroy the urn.

Gritting her teeth where she stood, the billowing frost nova had already begun to return, though this time, before Anya’s Fel imbued eyes, the icy winds clung tightly to the phylactery, a shape had begun to form. Without giving it a chance to fully form, Anya’s eyes closed themselves, a radiant aura forming around her feet.

As the golden glow of a Consecrate spread out along the ground beneath her feet, a second glow appeared behind her back, their second Paladin having had the same idea. A moment later, the ice and rime that had arisen around her feet and Soyala’s paws shattered, freeing both Anya and her Druid companion just in time for the ominous shape within the frozen winds to come forth.

Hovering out of the frozen aura surrounding its phylactery, a figure of bones, with onyx and purple robes hanging from its waist, came forth. Long, skeletal arms, an open ribcage with a pulsating purple gemstone, along with ominous glowing eyes; a mere light in hollowed out eye sockets. Even beneath its robes, where skeletal legs would normally be, there was nothing. Only a cyan, frozen aura that carried the Lich forward, its glowing, hollow eyes staring, unblinkingly, upon the Rogue frozen solid in a block of ice.

Almost immediately after resurrecting from its phylactery, the Lich hovered forth, one arm raised in the general direction of Nethariel, frozen in place as she were. Clenching its skeletal fingers in place, a loud rumbling resounded through the area; the block of ice trapping their Rogue in place shattering in mere moments, sending the victim trapped within down onto the floor, unmoving.

A shrill, hollow laughter resounded from its skeletal ribcage, maniacal cyan orbs staring down upon the women in front of it.

From her place however, Anya’s hands had already begun to quiver. Rogues were never meant to act as frontline fighters, but being shattered, and effectively incapacitated, with no more than an attack, was never meant to be. As her eyes slid over to where the Lich hovered, its frame overshadowing the High Elf Paladin with ease, a single possibility came to mind.

Their foe would classify as a raid boss on its own.

“Foolish mortals, unknowingly progressing our plans, yet unwilling to admit defeat.” A hollow voice reverberated through the air, a chilling layer of rime settling down upon Anya’s armored body. “Your actions matter not. My research will not be disrupted. On the contrary…”

Without the chance to finish its sentence, a feral roar resounded from Anya’s left flank, quickly followed by Soyala’s sleek Cat Form. With claws and fangs at the ready, the Druid latched onto the Lich’s extended arm, tearing through the Ice Armor adherent to any and all Frost Mage.

Gripping onto the Lich’s skeletal arm, Soyala’s sharp fangs finally tore through the magical armor set in place, inflicting the tiniest scrape against their foe. However, almost as quickly as her claws had latched on, the Lich flailed its arm, flinging Soyala’s Cat Form away somewhere behind its back.

From the corner of her eye, Soyala’s graceful Cat Form landed beside their fallen Rogue, near immediately shape shifting back into her Tauren form to channel a Rebirth on Nethariel. Although, throughout the entirety of the cast, the Tauren’s voluptuous figure swayed in time with her breathing, both annoying and pleasing the High Elf. If only their second Paladin had managed to avoid wearing such low-durability armor…

The moment said woman entered her mind, a Blade of Righteousness sprang forth from the ground beneath the Lich’s feet, a blade of pure Light cutting straight through the Undead’s defenses, before disappearing a moment later. Sword in hand, Kaaylana stepped up beside Anya, warily eyeing up her fellow Paladin before she, too, steeled her resolve.

“Tanking it will serve no purpose. Its frozen aura will hit everything,” Kaaylana spoke up, voice hard yet somehow radiant and melodic. “Hit it with all you have, Kal’aira heir.” With that said, the silver haired Draenei dashed forward, swinging her sword around with a Crusader Strike, before throwing out a Hammer of Justice.

Channeling the Holy Power that had built up within her, Kaaylana brought her sword down in an overhead swing, slamming the edge of her blade against the Lich’s exposed ribcage with a Templar’s Verdict. Almost simultaneously, an overbearing orb of pure Void energy crashed against the Lich’s body; the effects of a strangely timed Shadow Crash, originating from Sharlayan further back.

Letting out an audible groan as her head thumped away beneath the cowl of her mask, Nethariel’s hands slowly drifted up towards her head, wanting nothing more than to roll around and go back to sleep. All but radiating throughout the room, a cold breeze settled down upon the Rogue’s leather clad body, and with a weary sigh, Nethariel’s eyes slowly slid up; only to have her eyelids blink rapidly in bewilderment.

Hovering mere inches above her head were what had to be some of the largest breasts she had seen, pale brown with a layer of trimmed fur adorning the globes, but even so, the distinctive feature of two pink light brown nipples, as well as the rhythmical sway of two massive orbs, allowed the breasts to be identified. With a start and a faint groan, Nethariel’s head shot up, masked face immediately disappearing between the massive breasts above her head, before a hearty laugh rumbled from somewhere beyond the pillowy globes.

“Fear not, there will be a time for that later.” A deep, almost serene voice echoed from above, and as Nethariel’s head was buried in her bosom, Soyala Autumnroar slowly straightened her back, once again revealing the hellish fiend that had frozen the Rogue in place before. “How do you feel, Nethariel?”

Flexing her fingers and tightening her muscles, the Rogue did indeed find a slight ache in her body, though what she was most happy about was the coverage her mask granted her; had it not been so, then Soyala’s laughter may very well be directed at her, the blushing Rogue caught unawares by a pair of large breasts.

Mentally shaking her head at the very notion, Nethariel rolled over to rest her full weight on the small of her back, near instantly pushing herself forward, using her momentum to jump up onto her feet in a crouched position. The dull ache of a deep slumber, the frigid wind of a powerful Lich and the radiant warmth of having a healer’s breasts around her head…

“Did I die?” She muttered, voice barely a whisper whilst her fingers reached down to grasp the handle of one of her daggers.

There was no reply, not that one was required. She had been careless, wanting to destroy the phylactery before its owner could arrive, though despite her desire to end whatever scheme was put in motion, she herself had been defeated. Had she been alone…

Casting a subtle glance over her shoulder, Nethariel all but vanished from sight, the twin daggers that had been dropped on the floor disappearing as well. Already, her shadowy body stepped through the arena, darting back and forth between the backs of her allies using Shadowstep, moving from person to person at an increased speed, all the while staring intently upon the frame of their foe.

Every boss had its weakness, it was just a matter of finding the right moment to strike.

With a lingering sense of dread in her mind, an opening she would have normally taken passed by, silvery eyes looking beyond the scope of a normal offense. False openings, cracks in the Lich’s Ice Armor and the strange sway of its long, skeletal arms. From the corner of her eye, Anya’s armored frame was knocked back with a freezing Howling Blast, almost stumbling over the Lightforged Draenei clad in Soyala’s robes.

Feeling a cold shiver run down her spine, Nethariel’s eyes zeroed in on their Priest, Sharlayan, and right as a blast of frozen water and air was about to slow her movements, Nethariel cast another Shadowstep, materializing with her face a mere inch from Sharlayan’s barely covered, dusky violet ass.

Yet, before the shadowy tendrils around the Void Elf grasped onto the Rogue, Nethariel’s eyes zeroed in on the Lich’s head, a true opening revealing itself for the observant Night Elf.

In a matter of seconds, Nethairel’s leather clad body was above her target, daggers flying down towards the Lich’s head with a Death From Above, fully intent on breaking through the Undead’s defenses while preparing a Backstab to regain her combo.

Watching the motions of their leather clad Rogue as she darted back and forth along the battleground, Soyala Autumroar slowly pushed herself up onto her feet, hooves clicking gently against the ground whilst the not too subtle nups atop her breasts poked out. Without a shred of cloth adorning her form, the Druid was left rather exposed, though any disciple of the Archdruids would be naturally attuned to the world; of course, that also included a disregard for clothing in general.

Channeling the Feral forces within herself, Soyala once more shape shifted into her Cat Form, leaping forth from her place on the sidelines to once more latch onto the Lich’s skeletal arms. With a ferocious Rake and Swipe, Soyala’s claws cut through the refreshed Ice Armor conjured forth by the Lich, a lucky slash of her claws scraping against the skeletal ribcage holding back a frozen aura.

Jumping off to the side, Soyala’s feral glare landed upon the Lich’s head, twin daggers spinning downward as Nethariel’s Death from Above finally connected. With its great ending lag, the Rogue would be left exposed to attack, though from her side, Anya’s body lit up, a Hand of Reckoning forcing the Lich’s enmity to remain on the armored Paladin’s body.

For the first time in a long while, even their Priest launched her attacks, multiple beams of Void Light connecting Sharlayan to the Lich, several smaller Void tentacles casting Mind Flay to restrict the Lich’s movement speed, as well as which options might have been available for it to take.

With all members of their party using what they could to battle, Soyala’s bestial gaze fluttered over to the fleeting frame of Nethariel, the faintest command passing between the two of them as the Rogue once more disappeared from sight.

Having received her permission, Nethariel reached into a pouch, throwing a small pinch of Vanishing Powder onto the ground beneath her feet, disappearing from sight with her Stealth. Even before the small smoke cloud of her Vanish had dissipated, Nethariel’s feet had begun to carry her forward, circling around the central dais of the room, all the while shifting her gaze between the Lich’s skeletal body and her objective.

The phylactery.

Her original attempt had been hasty, a lingering fear of facing a powerful foe holding her prowess back. Even now, as the mismatched flashes of Light and Void attacks lit up the area around them, and their foe’s creeping cold aura slowed their movements, her feet inched forward, a cautious gaze always remaining on the skeletal sorcerer’s form.

However, no matter how quiet she were, or how stealthy her movements might have been, the moment Nethariel’s leather clad toes set foot upon the dark green dais on the floor, the Lich’s head spun around, the deathly pale cyan glow within its eye sockets zeroing in on the Rogue’s hidden position.

Flinging an arm out in Nethariel’s general direction, an orb of gathering frost was aimed directly towards the Rogue’s face, an impending Howling Blast without equal at point-blank distance.

Without so much as a second thought, Nethariel activated her Shadowstep, disappearing from the Lich’s extended arm, while appearing behind Kaaylana’s back, a pale blue tail slapping her across the face as the Paladin in question rushed up to slam her Crusader Strikes against the sorcerer’s exposed flank.

Shaking her head to clear the dull ache that had spread out across her cheeks, Nethariel gave Kaaylana’s tail a spiteful look, before once more utilizing her Shadowstep to close in on her target; though, this time, her lithe body appeared mere inches from the frozen phylactery, daggers poised to strike.

With one single stab, Nethariel’s daggers pierced through the tempered storm of frozen wind that surrounded the phylactery, cracking the outer layer of the urn, before breaking the urn as a whole.

The second the phylactery was destroyed, however, a gale of frozen wind, as well as a sickly green gas, exploded outward, sending any and all around the urn tumbling towards the nearest wall. And, subsequently, five heavy splashes resounded as Kaaylana, Sharlayan, Anya, Soyala and Nethariel fell down into the same vile green ooze that ran down the outer canals of the room.

With a heave and a mighty gasp, a pale pink Night Elven arm shot forth from the depths of the vile green slime creeping down throughout the canals of Naxxramas, quickly followed by a second arm, both of which were clamoring for a place to grasp. Pulling herself forth from the depths of the slime, two pointed ears arose from the depths, quickly followed by a mane of silky midnight blue hair. All across her body, for every inch that was pulled forth from the slime’s sticky grasp, inch after inch of spotless, taut skin was revealed.

Hoisting herself up from the corrosive slime, Nethariel let out a cough, spitting out a glob of green liquid before fully pulling herself up onto the ledge running along the sides of the room. As her slender waist and firm bubble butt dropped down onto the stone, a body befitting of the most athletic Rogue was revealed, complete with a near nonexistent chest, a meager handful, if that much.

Staring down into the vile gunk, the last trace of leather disintegrated away, leaving Nethariel without a scrap of clothing; though if nothing else, her twin daggers remained on the ground, a thin layer of rime covering their surface. Gazing around the site of their battle, glowing silver orbs swiveled around, near immediately landing upon a small pile of ash in the center of the room, adorned by a dark grey robe whose rims had begun to fade away.

Flinching back ever so slightly, Nethariel’s stoic face turned to her left, further down the room to where a pale blue hand ran along the surface of the cobblestone ledge, undoubtedly searching for a place to grab. With a start, the vile slime in the canal burst up, light blue horns and a long silvery mane breaking through the surface as Kaaylana made her way out of the gunk for the second time that day.

Biting her bottom lip to refrain from smirking, Nethariel took in the sight of the Lightforged Draenei, the cloth robe of Soyala quickly dropping to the floor as its material disintegrated, leaving the Draenei naked once more. However, as Nethariel’s gaze froze, the most apparent difference between then and now could be seen in the tool between Kaaylana’s legs.

Be it from the ooze, the contents of the phylactery or the strange warmth that lingered between Nethariel’s legs, the cock between Kaaylana’s legs stood rigid, what could only be described as a third leg drooping down beneath its own weight, all the while, a thin stream of transparent liquid oozed forth from the flared slit atop her horse shaped cockhead.

Similarly to last time, Nethariel’s pupil-less eyes zeroed in on the Draenei’s heaving bosom, the rhythmical sway of her breasts drawing the Rogue’s eyes in like an unveiled treasure chest.

As their eyes met, and their cheeks darkened their respective colors, a loud shriek resounded through the area; a strangely feminine voice that quickly devolved into a disgruntled groan. Instinctively honing in on the source of the sound, Nethariel pushed herself up onto her feet, one arm subconsciously crossing over her exposed breasts whilst her thighs closed themselves an instant later.

Standing at the waist-high slime on the far side of the room, the crimson colored ponytail worn by Anya stood out like a beacon; the only notable feature of the High Elf woman. As was the case with her two companions, Anya’s armor had long since disintegrated, her arms crossed over her chest whilst a deep blush spread across her cheeks, resembling the color of her hair more than a blush.

Feeling the faintest trace of giddiness after the Lightforged Draenei’s body was revealed, Nethariel’s excitement died down immediately thereafter, duly noting how Anya was built similarly to herself, though with an even leaner frame. Where the girl hid her muscles, Nethariel did not know, but the sight of toned, peach colored skin, slender hips and what appeared to be a firm rear still left the Rogue mildly intrigued. The fact that her groin and legs were still hidden by the ooze left little to the imagination.

With a mirthful snort, Nethariel’s gaze flickered over to the general location of their two remaining companions, or at the very least, where she thought they had landed.

Strange as it was, when a string of bubbles emerged from the depths of the ooze, Nethariel half expected her resurrector to arise; receiving yet another eyeful of the Druid’s endowments would leave her wanting for weeks, if not months. However, what actually arose from the water was, disappointingly enough, Soyala Autumroar’s Cat Form.

The sleek feline trotted her way out of the pool, shaking her paws gently, before shaking her entire back to rid herself of the slime clinging to her fur. When she finally made her way over, the shapeshifted Druid was as unphased by the endeavor as someone unaffected entirely would be.

With a shake of her head, the visual of Sharlayan’s clothed form appeared within the Rogue’s mind, half expecting yet another slender girl without a trace of curves. When her head turned towards a distinctly feminine groan however, Nethariel’s free hand instinctively dropped down to her groin, seemingly hiding her womanhood, though surreptitiously, a finger gently traced circles around her scorching hot slit.

Having seen next to no Void Elves before, Nethariel’s silver orbs honed in on the dusky violet skin tone that adorned all of Sharlayan’s body, shrouding her in a veil of mystique and otherworldly allure. Long, multi-colored hair ran down her back, starting as a dark sapphire, before ending as a deep purple color; a faint hue flickering through her locks whenever the Rogue’s eyes left her.

A moment later, when Nethariel’s eyes grew accustomed to the mysterious hue of the Void Elf, her gaze drifted elsewhere, roaming across the vast expanse of smooth, spotless skin that made up the woman’s stomach, before reaching higher, instantly zeroing in on their Priest’s breasts, two large handfuls by any standard, capped with a pair of engorged dark blue nipples.

Feeling her throat go dry when the Void Elf stepped forth from the depths of the ooze, a stoic expression adorning her angular features, Nethariel’s gaze dropped down to the woman’s groin, expecting to find the same multi-colored hair there as well. What met her eyes however, made the Rogue blink. Turning back to stare at the Lightforged Draenei, or rather, the half-erect cock pointed towards Anya’s stomach, a sense of recognition overtook her.

Hanging down from Sharlayan’s groin, right above where a woman’s clit would be, was a dusky violet cock, resembling a human’s, while maintaining the sleek grace of a male High Elf. For every step she took, her cock bounced, slapping against her thighs while maintaining its half-erect state. Based off of what meager experience she had, Nethariel would measure Sharlayan’s cock up to a foot in length; half the size of their Draenei companion, though its thickness was notable as well.

All too aware of the Night Elf’s gaze, Sharlayan’s moonlit eyes flashed for the briefest moment, an elated look overtaking her features when Nethariel’s gaze drifted back up towards her face, their eyes locking for the briefest moment. With a nod of her head, Sharlayan released the Mind Control she had cast.

Turning her gaze from the unaffected Void Elf, to the seated shapeshifted Druid, to their High Elf tank hiding behind their second Paladin, the same, seemingly unaffected Draenei that had been gunked twice already.

With a shake of her head, Nethariel’s gaze dropped down, two semi-erect cocks hovering in her peripheral vision. It had been quite a while since the last time she had had to fly home naked…


End file.
